Sitting next to her on the couch, I reach for one of the hands crammed against her body, needing thissmalltouch to ground me in the presentwhileI let my mind wander to the past, something I don't often allow anymore.
She lets me take it, relaxing into the plush blue velvet beneath her.
"What do you know about how my kind are made?"I ask, notsurewhere to start.
With a shrug, she answers, "Not much. Virgin blood spilled."
I nod slowly, wishing I had more answers for ourexactcreation, "You know there are three types of demons. Flesh-eating, soul-drainers, and blood-suckers, basically.
"Supposedly, we are the basest pieces of a terrible soul, banished to Vankhala to be torn into three pieces and repurposed, so to speak. That's why Cas and Fritz have their weird, ultra close connection, and they can both be bonded to Bel. They're two pieces of the same twisted soul."
"Okay," she says slowly, absorbing the information.
"When a virgins blood is spilled and the incantation spoken, one of us is pulled from Vankhala. The how and why is all speculation; whatever knowledge was passed down to equip us for our purpose in this world has long since died.
"But when I was summoned, itwas during a time of great unrest. Tensions were rising just before The Great War, and while its religious influences sometimes are glossed over, many extremist groups believed the violence would be necessary for a cleansing of the world of sorts. Violence on such a scale that there would never need to be war again, and God would reveal himself to those who helped usher in this new world.
"Well, in certain parts of Canada, they told stories of great, monstrous warriors who would protect their children from the possibility of this war spilling onto their soil. And I mean... these were just farmers trying to live their lives, suddenly having to worry about being attacked because of the growing agricultural sect where they live. The only real weapons they had were the ones they needed to put down animals. They had no means to protect themselves."
"So they summoned demons?" Isla's skepticism leaks through as she asks.
And I can't really blame her. It seems to her like an extreme measure to take to protect farmland, but she wasn't thereand can'tunderstand a world that doesn't have the kind of communication technology she has now. Can't understand the isolation and fear that comes from living in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a newspaper to inform your opinions.
"Yes. Because they felt they had no other option. They wanted to keep their families safe, by any means necessary. So when someone came through the town with tales of these giant monsters that swore fealty to the innocents blood that they spill, they figured it was just a myth, but what did they have to lose?"
And here's the part where it gets sticky, the pieces of my story I try to scrub from my mind with every waking moment.
"My—" I clear my throat, "My family had just lost a daughter to the fever, their son, Arthur, was a miracle and did not succumb to it. But Roy and Evelyn... they were so deep in their grief, so terrified of losing another child, they were desperate. So they paid the passing salesman his exorbitant fee to get the spell."
Isla stares at the ground in front of her, thankfully not looking at me, because Idon't think I could continue this story if those big, stormy green eyes filled with emotion were facing me just now. I start drawing little circles on the palm of her hand, keeping my body occupied so I don't get up and start pacing. Or run awaycompletely.
"The latin apparently gave them a rough time," I chuckle, rememberingthe wayEvelyn told me the story over tea while Arthur and Roy slept. "Took a couple pricks of the finger. They used a sewing needle, pricking tiny Arthurs little finger. After the first try, they almost gave up, deciding they had been tricked by the traveling salesman. But on the second one, they had more success, obviously."
A choking, terrible laugh rips from my throat, remembering the mortals I loved so much, "They were horrified when I showed up. Roy and Evelyn screamed so loudly, I still hear it ringing in my ears sometimes when I dream, and I wake up thinking the last century was a nightmare.
"I was discombobulated, of course. No clue where or what or when I was, only remembering the cold nothing of Vankhala. But then there was Arthur. He was two years old, trying to escape his mothers arms and staring up at me with the sweetest little cherub face. Big brown eyes, still watery from the pain of the needle, dirt smudged across his face and clothes. I loved that little beast instantly."
My vision blurs, and I use my free hand to smear it away.
"Did you know two year olds have areallyhard time making the D sound?" I try to fight the emotion clouding my mind with the humorous parts of my story.
Isla must know how this story ends or suspect it, at least. Her silence speaks volumes, not letting me shy away from how scared I am of the end of this confession.
"That's how I got my name. Arthur shouting it at me, trying to say demon while he chased after me. I spent six months with my family. Six months of learning to speak, helping Roy run the farm, posing as his brother who needed a job and place to live. I was an upstanding member of the community.
"And then the salesman came back to collect his prize."
Isla freezes. "What?"
"Thesalesman,as it turns out, was a member of the Sanctus Sculitis. Peddling the same story in each town, using innocent peoples fear and grief against them. Their objective was to summon as many demons as possible, to gain bodies for the upcoming war that could be controlled by their human hosts."
"So, what, they kidnapped Arthur?"
Flashes of Roy and Evelyn's bodies sprawled across the wooden floor barrage my mind. Evelyn's hand still outstretched towards what I can only assume was Arthur. Tiny little bloody footprints and handprints across the floor and her soft face. Roy was nearly unrecognizable. Knowing him, he would have fought tooth and nail until the bitter end to protect his family.
But I'll spare Isla those details. She doesn't need to be haunted by the ugliest parts of the war I've waged the last century, just the parts that matter.
I nod, "They killed his parents and took him."
